Operation Impending Doom II: Planet Thurk
by Maniacal Dragon
Summary: A story about Invader Dem and the planet he's been assigned. A previous Invader was here during OID I, but she disappeared without trace or explanation. Epilogue up..
1. The Assigning, and Arrival on Thurk

Author's Note: Well, I kinda felt like writing a story about Thurk, which I made up for the purpose of my SI stories. So here it is! I'm not sure when I'll have another chapter up, but I will most certainly keep writing, especially now with the show canceled. Keep it alive, people, don't stop writing and drawing and everything else! 

Disclaimers: Zim and Irk and related concepts all belong to Jhonen Vasquez the Almighty. Many thanks to Aliet Faslami for letting me use bits of her Irken culture speculation (Soldier/Student classes), cuz I'm terrible at ideas of my own :) Thurk, the ghostlings, and Invader Dem are all mine though, so if you want to use them please ask.. 

Now, on with the story!

--- 

Invader Dem!

The Irken had been standing rigidly, crimson eyes gazing out over the sea of people in the hall. The Irken military. All the finest Soldiers, efficient, emotionless, and well-trained. Dem was one of the best, and he couldn't help but feel a swelling of pride, standing there, one of the elite Invaders chosen to infiltrate an enemy planet.

When his name was called, Dem lost no time in stepping right up and accepting his assignment. Planet Thurk. The image came up, a computer-generated scene of Dem among swamplands, holding himself out of the wet fen with his mechanical legs. Dem narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly. Thurk had been assigned to an Invader in Operation Impending Doom I, and had failed the mission. In fact, there was no idea where he (she?) was now. But Dem made no protest; just accepted his digi-pad with all of the available information on Thurk.

As Dem stepped off the ramp he began to file through the information. There had been several reports made, by Invader Rhan. She was a relatively young Invader, but she'd been perfectly competent, there was no reason for her to have disappeared without a trace. Dem nervously swept a gloved hand over his antennae. At least, he had one advantage over the other Invaders. There was information already gathered on his planet.

First thing given to the Invaders were their Voot Cruisers. They were standard Voot Runners, modified with weapons and various other tools that would be useful on a foreign planet, most notably the analyzer and disguise-creator. The Tallest, in a bored manner, pointed out the docking bays where the Cruisers were being kept waiting for them, then asked the Invaders to join the rest of the Irken military in the equipping hall.

By the time everyone had gathered in the equipping hall, Dem had gone through almost half of the information available. Reading Rhan's reports, he had reached the conclusion that this would not be a difficult planet to conquer. The native ghostlings seemed to be a simple and peace-loving race, though Rhan did mention that they had seen right through her disguise. She had no notes on her disguise however, so Dem assumed it had been an inferior one. He'd just have to use a holo-net, or something.

The Almighty Tallest called out now, for everyone to line up and get their SIR unit. The SIRs were robots designed to gather and utilize information. Rhan's SIR had done a lot of her note-taking' so to speak, and she'd only summarized in her reports. Dem was sure that there was a wealth-load of information that had not been reported to the Tallest, as was often the case. The Tallest simply didn't care about the cultural details; they just wanted to know what was important in the case of taking over the planet. But why had Rhan disappeared? Surely she would've reported anything that was a potential threat to her mission. Scrolling through her reports, Dem could not see anything that she had reported as dangerous to her in any way.

Some crazed, high-pitched laughter caused Dem to roll his eyes up from the pad in annoyance. It looked to him like one of the SIRs had short-circuited. But he paid it no mind, and simply waited in line, devouring the reports in the computer in his hand. He was last in line, and had plenty of time to go through them before he came to the front.

When it was Dem's turn to receive his robot, he put the digi-pad away. Both Tallest gazed down at him, and he met their gazes, before looking to the conveyer line of robots. One leapt down and activated, its optics glowing red. As Dem gazed at it, he realized that this was it this was everything they needed, and they were leaving now. This was goodbye to Irk and every other planet that Dem knew.

he said to the robot, and it saluted to attention instantly. Come with me to the Voot Cruiser. As he walked off, the SIR marched smartly at his side. Dem gazed straight ahead, ignoring the envious looks from his colleagues in the audience. The Invaders were leaving Irk, and everything they knew. It was Invader training to want to leave, spread the Irken influence as far as possible, but Dem still could not help the feeling of regret.

a voice caught the Irken's attention, and he turned towards the sound. It was one of his acquaintances from the academy; a stocky soldier called Skoodge.

he acknowledged the other Invader as he ran up to Dem. Dem towered over Skoodge by a good few inches, but Dem did not judge the other Invader for that. Of course it was bad to be short, but that only mattered superficially. A Soldier obeyed, and a Soldier did not engage in superfluous activities and feelings. That was what made a good Soldier. Perhaps a short Soldier was not entitled to the same respect, but that did not make them incompetent.

Good luck on your mission, Invader Dem, Skoodge said after a short moment of silence.

And to you, Invader Skoodge, Dem replied. His gaze did not fall on the shorter Irken, but his tone was respectful. Neither did he pay notice to the other Invaders around them, who were also heading for the docking bays, gazing ahead of them as they walked smartly along their way. The only one that seemed at all out of place was the tiny renegade, Zim, and his malfunctioning SIR. There was definitely something wrong with that little robot; it was not behaving, and not obeying the miniscule Irken's demands. But it was military training to take no notice of such things, and so Dem and Skoodge continued on their way, silent, both of their minds on the mission ahead.

Dem settled down in the cockpit, the SIR at his side, and ran his gloved fingers across the control panel. He was supposed to leave, but as his hand strayed over the panel, he felt an urge to head for Irk, and not for his assigned planet. He battled with the sudden compunction, reminding himself of the obedient, emotionless manner in which the Soldier class operated. It was enough; he convinced himself not to make the extra stop, and headed straight out into the vacuum of space, his computer locking onto the coordinates of Thurk.

The journey took two weeks. Dem spent the time going over Rhan's reports, and writing his own notes on her observations. He uploaded the entire database of information on Thurk and on Rhan into his SIR, for optimum information retrieval and organization. He spent a long time reading Rhan's profile, her personal history and her place in Irken society.

She had always been an outstanding student. But different, in a strange way. She wasn't quite as cold, as emotionless as the other soldiers, but she must've seemed it the way she threw herself into her studies and excelled. She'd started her training early, and had finished early. Upon being promoted to Invader and assigned a mission in OID I, she had said only that she was glad to be heading out. Why?

Rhan's early reports to the Tallest gave assurance that she had arrived safely, and setting up her base had gone well. Dem read the transcripts many times over, trying to get a feel for Thurk and also for Rhan. Despite his set determination to take care of the job set before him, Dem felt curiosity towards Rhan. He wanted to know what had happened to her, why she had disappeared.

Rhan's first reports were enthusiastically detailed. She obviously had a great love for the planet that she had been assigned to, though her lovingly detailed reports were only summarized to the Tallest. As her mission went on, blending into weeks, months her reports became sketchier; it almost seemed as if she dreaded making them. The Tallest, of course, hadn't ever noticed; they didn't notice such things because they didn't care. Most Irkens recognized this lax attitude in their leaders, but the respect to height was so firmly ingrained that no one questioned them, not even in their thoughts.

And then, Rhan's reports stopped coming. After a while, the Tallest had attempted to contact her, but hadn't been able to. Her equipment was no longer there, or at least the communication equipment wasn't. The Tallest had immediately put Thurk on the list for Operation Impending Doom II, in hopes that the next Invader would be able to finish what Rhan had started, and perhaps uncover the mystery of her disappearance.

At the end of the two weeks, Dem was glad to see the blue-hued planet in his Voot Cruiser's scopes.

Planet ahead, announced the Voot's computer, and Dem immediately touched the screen to bring up all the details of it that had been observed before. He pressed the panel to put the data into permanent storage, and glanced over at his SIR.

Activate observation mode, he said to the robot, before turning back to look at the planet. He ran a hand over the control panel again, bringing up the notes he'd taken in the past two weeks. They contained his plan of operation, notes on his disguise—he'd decided it would be easier not to use a holo-disguise; considering the environment—and important cultural notes he'd summarized from Rhan's reports. For example, she had said that the ghostlings were made extremely nervous and apprehensive by the color red. Dem's soldier uniform was red, as were his eyes. But what had sparked this fear of red in a race? There was no red on the planet that he could see as the Voot darted its way through Thurk's atmosphere. Perhaps the ghostlings had red blood, or there was a red predator in their native swamps.

His scanners were picking up teeming life readings. He directed the Voot towards a less-concentrated spot, just outside one of the large swamps. His scanners told him that there were many small colonies of ghostlings over the entire planet. It would be standard enough, to be sure, to move every few months to observe from a different standpoint with an entirely new group. For starting, it didn't matter much which colony he chose, and Dem carefully brought the Voot as near as he dared to the swamp.

Sliding open the cockpit, Dem cautiously slid out, holding himself off of the swampy ground with his mech-legs. He needed, unfortunately, to build a home in a pool of water near a ghostling settlement. The water on this planet, while of a chemical composition that was not as corrosive as some, was still quite painful on contact with Irken skin. Water vapor in the atmosphere, as well, could be a problem; it could corrode the lungs if breathed for long periods of time, say, a couple of revolutions around the system's sun.

Dem reached up with one robotic leg towards the hanging leaf/vines that draped from the trees at the edge of the swamp. Tugging some of it loose, he carefully wrapped his SIR in it, disgusing its metallic gleam and flashing lights. This was temporary, but he needed to find a good spot to build his base; the Voot could not fly through the thick swamp, and it was safer for the robot to travel through the water-infested terrain.

Dem said. Locate an optimum area for our base, based on the information I've uploaded to you. Try not to let yourself be seen.

Yes, master, the SIR said, and marched off into the swamp, coated in vines. With a sigh, Dem climbed back into the cockpit of his Voot cruiser, his mech-legs retracting into his backpod.

Activate camoflauge, he said. There was no visible change from inside, but from the outside, the surface of the Voot cruiser shimmered, and seemed to almost fade into the landscape. Dem instructed the ship to alert him when his SIR returned, and he settled back down to wait.


	2. Meeting the Ghostlings and Establishing ...

The sun that Thurk orbited had just begun to dip below the horizon when the SIR returned. Dem was startled out of a light nap by the insistent beeping of the Voot's computer, and he quickly reached over to deactivate it. His antennae twitched, perking towards the world outside the transparent canopy bubble of the ship.

There it was. Dem slid a finger across the control panel, opening the cockpit, and he cautiously emerged on his mechs to meet the SIR.

said the little robot, stopping in front of Dem and saluting. It was almost comical; the tiny SIR coated in muck and vines while delivering its message. These robots had no sense of humor programmed into them, nor any emotions. Student programmers had reached the capacity to emulate emotion in a machine, but this success went almost completely unnoticed, especially in the military. Emotion was a waste.

Yes, SIR? Dem inquired of the bot.

Optimum area located; a distance from a nearby ghostling village. It is shielded by trees and construction of the base should remain undetected.

Good, SIR, Dem said. Let's get you and I proper disguises, and we'll be on our way. He used one of his mechs to pull some of the vines from the SIR's metallic surface.

Based on its observations, the computer of the disguise-creator that was included in Voot Cruisers could make a disguise, either holographic or non, that would allow an Invader to travel undetected among the inhabitants of an alien planet. Since Irk's computers had examples of natives of all the marked planets, the computer had a pretty good idea of what to build. It could improvise, of course, perhaps not perfectly but well enough. Once again Dem had an advantage, invading a planet on which Invader reports had already been gathered. Dem chose a purely concrete disguise; fake ears, tail, crests, feet webs the only thing it didn't do was change his skin color, or his clothes. It would be very hard; to emulate a swimmer when the very substance they swam in was caustic to him. He would have to have the computer engineer a balm against it.

The disguise was complete; Dem was rather pleased with it. The sinuous tail was on a jointed rod and a weight, making it move realistically, and the stiff webs attached to his feet actually _would help him swim. Now for the SIR? Rhan's reports had indicated that the ghostlings did not keep pets or livestock, so Dem had the disguise-creator make a ghostling costume for the little robot as well._

Now as for the color red? That would have to wait until the base was constructed. The Irken Invader followed after his SIR, as the robot led him towards the location it had picked, its own fake tail weaving behind it as its now-webbed feet splashed in the swamp. Dem kept himself hoisted up on his mechs, staying alert for any sign of life. Contact lenses turned solid black his ruby eyes, and he kept some of the vines to shield the view of his red Soldier's uniform.

It was their luck that no ghostlings were in sight throughout the trip to the SIR's location. When the little robot reached it, it froze in place and pointed. A small inlet of a shallow pool coiled around the roots of one of the huge trees. Its leaves and vines draped over the pool, almost hiding it from view. The tree itself was large enough for a couple of the ghostlings' buildings. This would be a good place.

The ghostling village is in that pool, the SIR said, turning and pointing. Dem looked; it wasn't _very far away, but neither was it close. Better that he set up base a little ways away the Irken pulled out his house-builder' and sketched a quick picture of what he wanted. The observatory computer would supply the details. Hopefully, it would also know not to disturb the roots of the trees. That meant the base would be deep. Dem leaned forward, bracing himself on his mechs, and thrust the drill end of the construction device into the muddy earth near the tree. It immediately bored down into the mud, its guidance system skillfully avoiding the roots._

Leaving his SIR to monitor the construction, Dem carefully made his away around the tree. The webbed feet of his costume kept his feet coated, where the water could not touch them. It would not do to introduce himself to the ghostling community propped up on a set of mechanical legs. Brushing the vines again over his uniform, Dem marched smartly towards the village.

He saw movement in the water long before he reached there. And as he drew nearer, he saw his first ghostlings in person.

They were slightly smaller than him; their heads peeped out of the water, their large black eyes were frequently swept clean with clear eyelids. The finned crests that ran from their heads down their backs rose slightly, their large, laid-back ears perking ever so slightly as they saw him. The universal translator in his backpod would remove the language barrier, but it could not do more than that. He would have to figure out what was normal and accepted in their culture by himself. And of course, Rhan's notes.

The two ghostlings slipped silently through the water towards him. He noted to himself how they swam; forearms tucked close to their bodies, tails propelling, and they steered and at times added a bit of thrust with their webbed hind feet. As they reached the shore, Dem still did not move. They reached long, slim fingers towards him as they emerged from the water, and he then attempted to imitate the ghostling greeting gesture of holding out both hands, lowering his head, and swishing his tail'.

One of the ghostlings stepped up to him, and he met its gaze. This was the test of his military training, his disguise, and his powers of observation and study. Neither moved for a long moment.

Then, with a quick, but gentle gesture, the ghostling reached out a hand and pulled the fake ears and crest from Dem's head. He froze. His lensed eyes went wide in fear they had found him out so quickly? What would they do to him now? Both ghostlings continued to strip the Irken of his disguise, until nothing remained but the vines that covered his uniform, and his contact lenses. Fake webbed feet and tail lay in the muck at Dem's feet; he braced his now vulnerable feet against the rough root of one of the trees, out of the water. He did not know what to do had he failed in his mission already? Had he done so terribly that they had seen right through his disguise?

Welcome, Ranim, one of the ghostlings said, its voice soft and not at all menacing or afraid, from what Dem could tell. The universal translator rang the meaning of the word Ranim' in his mind it was a label for an emotion that was more or less a mixture of fear, fascination, curiosity, and apprehension. It was then that Dem recalled Rhan's reports the ghostlings had seen right through her disguise. Could this be the same group? That seemed unlikely, even more so by their reaction to him. They were treating him as a completely unknown. Rhan's reports had also stated something about how the ghostlings named things with their words for feelings. That would mean that Ranim' was how they felt about him. Dem was immensely relieved that their feeling towards him was not something closer to hostility and fear. Many beings reacted that way to new things; that was why Invaders infiltrated their assigned planets in disguise.

Thank you, Ranim, Dem chose to use for them the same word they had used for him. I come here to learn I mean you no harm. He spoke the lie without so much as a blink. It was Invader training to be able to lie effectively. Invaders were taught that they were superior to other sentients; which gave them a moral excuse not to treat them as equals. Dem _was here to learn; but with the intent of gathering information that would subdue the planet and its inhabitants._

The ghostlings bobbed their heads and weaved their tails; a gesture that Dem recalled from Rhan's notes, that meant they were pleased. they said. Do you have a place to stay?

Dem replied. He suddenly recalled his base that the SIR was monitoring construction of. He had better return to see if all had gone well but was it accepted to simply leave? Should he have waited until he was entirely ready before attempting to scout out the village? Dem gazed into the cryptic black eyes of the ghostling nearest him. If they understood his alienness perhaps they would understand his need to leave.

I must go, he said, shifting slightly as he withdrew his mechs from his backpod. The ghostlings drew back at the sight, but then they seemed to sense that the legs were not intended for harm. Dem hoisted himself up on them and began to make his way through the swampy terrain. I will return later! he called back to the ghostlings, and they bobbed their heads, weaved their tails, and waved their slim fingers in the air.

When Dem reached the construction site, he found the SIR standing and watching obediently where he had left it. The base was complete, and from what he had seen both from the notes and the brief glimpses he'd gotten of the ghostlings' village, it was perfectly accurate. It was formed of a gel-like material around ridged, hard, multi-shaped objects—rocks of some sort—and somehow this construction held up quite well, especially with the large tree it was built around. And the entrance? Dem carefully made his way closer, balancing on his mechs as he looked closely for the entrance.

It's underwater, the little SIR spoke, sensing what its master was looking for.

I see Dem's brow furrowed. It was expected that the entrance would be underwater in a ghostling home but Dem's entrance?

he said. My identity has been revealed. Create an entrance above the surface of the swamp. The computer complied?

The SIR seemed confused for a moment. SIRs were programmed for ultimate secrecy; the identity of the Invader being discovered was the worst disaster imaginable in its computer mind.

Don't worry, SIR, Dem said, as the computer carefully created a door, shielded by a hologram. These ghostlings accept alien visitors, apparently. That was in Invader Rhan's notes.

A soft processing sound could be heard from the SIR, and then its red optics lit up. 

Dem frowned slightly. He would have to do something about the SIR's metal and optic colors—both red. Perhaps green, instead? That shouldn't be too hard, though the computer would have to do the delicate re-wiring work for the lights. Dem turned back to the base, running a gloved hand over the jelly-and-rock wall until his hand passed through.

Come, SIR. Dem withdrew his mechs and stepped into the base, and the little robot followed after obediently.


	3. First Report, and Discovery of the Lenit...

A/N: Sorry it has been so long between chapters -.- And this is a short chapter, besides . Aaagh the horror!

--

_Day 4 – Thurk Infiltration and Assessment _

_The ghostlings have readily accepted me as an alien life form and treat me no differently except for the name they use for me; ranim; which as near as the translator can tell, represents a mixture of emotions of fear, fascination, apprehension, and curiosity. The attitude of a native to an alien. This is unorthodox; ideally I should be disguised so that I can be sure they treat me no differently then another of their own kind, but their wiliness has made this impossible. I have observed their interactions with each other and they do not seem to treat me any differently then they would a ghostling from another village. _

_My SIR located an isolated group of non-native life forms somewhere to the southwest. I have yet to ascertain their nature, and I plan to make a trip out there in the Voot Cruiser to observe them._

Dem laid the datapad down on the smooth counter with a sigh. It took more time, it seemed, to prepare what he would be reporting to his Tallest then it took to organize his own field notes. One gloved hand touched the material of his soldier uniform; the cloth was now a deep blue in respect to the ghostlings' dislike of the color red. Dem's crimson eyes were shielded by solid black contact lenses. Other than these two changes, Dem did nothing more to further his disguise; the ghostlings knew what he was.

And still there remained the mystery of Rhan. Her notes were scantier on many issues then he would've liked, and the blanks he continued to draw frustrated him. Who was she? Where had she gone? He hadn't found a reference to her changing the color of her uniform, nor anything about altering her eyes with contact lenses. But then, female soldiers had eyes that were often more purple-tinged, and from Rhan's record on Irk hers had been especially so. Dem had already asked the ghostlings if they'd seen another alien like himself before, but his answer was a negative. That in itself was not surprising; there were ghostling clans all over the planet, all separate, and it made sense that Rhan had landed at a different one then he.

With a sigh, Dem stood up, heading over to the screen. He ran a hand over the control panel, and the Irken logo leapt onto the screen, along with a few status bars. He stood there rigidly, his antennae pricked, as the receiver connected to the Tallest far away on the Massive.

The image came into view. Both Tallest stood there, Red with a grimace and Purple with a bored expression. Both immediately snapped to attention on seeing Dem, however.

My Tallest, the Invader began respectfully, waving his antennae briefly. I make my first report on my progress. My disguise has been infiltrated but if you recall, that also happened to the Invader before me and did not hinder progress in any way.

Both Tallest watched him, semi-interested, and Red popped a nacho into his mouth.

These ghostlings seem a peaceful race, though the terrain in which they live is hostile to Irken biology. They accept my alien status and welcome me as friend without question. I do not think these people will be very hard to subdue. They have an interesting system of architecture and religion, and their language seems to reflect their attitude. The language is very imprecise, and they use a group of feeling-words to describe just about—

Yes, Dem, that's good, Red interrupted him. Tell us more about their defenses.

Dem sighed inaudibly. I haven't yet ascertained their defense or exact technology level, he said. But I don't think they are very advanced; they don't have any kind of communication system with clans outside of their own. There is a group of non-natives southwest of the village I am in that I plan to go investigate to see if they are a potential threat. Now if you will excuse me, My Tallest I must go.

Certainly, Dem, certainly, Purple agreed. Thank you for reporting in. We look forward to hearing from you again. Red gestured sharply, and the screen blinked off. Dem sighed; his rigid military pose relaxing. He'd never seemed to find military protocol so tiresome before.

he said, and the small robot snapped to attention. I want you to ask someone to take you to the edge of the swamp. Record everything you see and everything they tell you and report back to me later I am going to take the Voot Cruiser out and investigate the non-natives.

Yes, master, the SIR said, and it marched smartly towards the lift. The red areas of the SIR had been painted a dull green, and Dem had had his computer re-wire its optics so that they emitted no color. This, too, was in concordance with the ghostlings' dislike of the color red.

The Voot Cruiser soared slowly over the canopy, though high enough so the fuel jets wouldn't touch the trees. Dem avoided harming these trees in any way out of respect to the ghostlings; he knew that such an act would likely ostracize him completely. It was apparent even at this early stage in his research that the trees were very important to the ghostlings, and he had no need to interfere with them.

He was a long distance from his base, though it took his Irken Voot only a few minutes to travel it. There was a clearing up ahead; that was what he was looking for. A hologram blinked on along one of the panels in the cockpit. Life _and_ technology readings in the clearing ahead. Dem slowed the Cruiser, bringing it to a rest at the very edge of the swamp. The cockpit slid open, and Dem climbed out nervously on his mech-legs. He was not near his' ghostling village, and though he felt sure that other ghostlings wouldn't be hostile to him, it still would be better not to give them anything to gossip about. Dem held himself up out of the thick waving grass as he stepped forward. He could hear the dampness under the tips of his mech-legs; it wasn't yet safe to walk on the ground himself, but then, neither was it safe to continue like this in full view.

Finally, he dropped down under the grass, while still using his mech-legs to propel himself so he didn't actually touch the ground. Thin black antennae twitched nervously as Dem gazed intently at the scanning device in his hand. It represented obstacles and living creatures in different colored dots on the screen. A collection of red dots moved around in the corner, spattered with unmoving yellow ones. Dem continued his slow progress towards in the direction of the dots indicated by the radar, freezing only when it flashed a warning that he was almost in their range of detection. Only then did he dare peek above the waving grass.

A shocking sight greeted his black-lensed eyes. Beings in heavy uniform and solid helmets crisscrossed the field, surrounding what looked like a low-tech base of operations. Their uniforms covered almost all of their bodies, leaving only their faces visible but Dem recognized them instantly. They were natives of the planet Lenit IV. A planet that had been successfully conquered in Operation Impending Doom I, its citizens reduced to slaves of the Irken Empire. Lenit IV was barely into the space age, and as a consequence had no military off their planet's surface. They had been an easy victory for the Irken armada but how had a group of them gotten here? Their ships were capable, of course, of making the short trip from Lenit IV to Thurk, but how had they escaped unnoticed? Unless they had perhaps arrived before the invasion Dem's gaze flicked up to the skies as a shadow passed over him, and he watched in amazement as a pair of huge, long-winged creatures circled the Leniti base slowly. He had heard of these creatures, both from Rhan's reports and from the ghostlings themselves. Known commonly as little more than Thurken beasts' off their actual planet, the ghostlings called these things Varel', a word that Dem recalled meant an emotive mix of caution and respect. These were ferocious predators, as evidenced by the huge, disc-like eyes, and the massive claws on either foot. Dem thought them hideously ugly.

But that wasn't what was important however. What was important was that these things were circling the Leniti base without any evidence of predation, and neither were the Leniti acknowledging them with any kind of fear or caution. Did they have some kind of defense against the things? It didn't occur to Dem that they had perhaps befriended them until he saw one of the beasts alight at the edge of the base and be tossed something that he couldn't see, which it caught before leaping once more into the air.

This wasn't good. A renegade group of Leniti arrived how long ago? Although their technology was not powerful, they all now had a forced loyalty to the Irken Empire and any resistance was intolerable. Dem dropped back beneath the grass and scurried quickly on his mech-legs towards his Voot Cruiser. If they were only a post here, they'd leave him alone, but the fact that there was no record of any Leniti being on this planet warned him that they were indeed rebels.

Dem reached his Voot and climbed into the cockpit, firing the engines and soaring quickly into the sky. He needed to get back to the base and make his report.

As the Voot shot past the undergrowth of the jungle, several pairs of glossy eyes watched his retreat. The eyes were ghostling-black, except for one pair, which was purple. One ghostling slipped from the undergrowth, crouching among the vines to gaze after Dem's ship, which was already long out of sight.

The little creature ducked down, turning back to the other sets of eyes that watched him in curiosity. It's another one of them, the ghostling said softly.


	4. Irken Soldier: A Mind Opened

A/N: Finally, another chapter! I know nobody reads this story but... I like it, despite my recent bad case of writer's block, and I intend to finish it! ^.^ I like this chapter. So please, read and review if you get the chance!

--

Those are Dale. A slim, long-fingered hand pointing towards a pair of animals accompanied the voice. Dem's SIR recorded everything carefully, down to the tone of voice the ghostling was using. The little animals ahead of him were slender, with long legs and necks. They danced agilely around the edge of the swamp, ducking their small heads every once in a while to swipe a mouthful of the grass that stretched to the horizon. The word dale' meant something akin to the feeling of free' in the ghostling language.

The SIR's now-colorless optics flashed into recording mode, as the agile creatures leapt and pranced nervously. SIRs were optimum for information retrieval, along with their dual use as a thermos. Equipped with the highest AI-chip developed by the Irken student class, along with massive amounts of information storage space, jet rockets, and plenty of room for upgrades, the SIR was a formidable tool for Invaders.

A soft processing sound was heard from inside the robot, and the pair of ghostlings accompanying the SIR crouched to watch it curiously. The bot's head opened, and a holographic projector extended to convey a slightly fuzzy image in front of the SIR. Both ghostlings watched, silently.

Dem said, his lensed eyes shifting nervously to the two attentive ghostlings before focusing on his robot. I've located a renegade group of Leniti. I would like you to head out there and investigate; coordinates are in the Voot's computer. Return to the base soon for them, I will be putting together a report for the Tallest Dem glanced to one side before shutting off the transmission.

Yes, my master, the SIR said, and with a salute to the two ghostlings, activated its jets and flew towards Dem's base.

They are very set, one of the ghostlings whispered to the other.

the other agreed.

Invader Dem gazed at the SIR unit that saluted instantly upon walking in. He'd had an impatient several hours, awaiting the report from his robot. He'd long ago finished compiling his report to the Tallest, he only needed the SIR's collected data to complete it and be able to report in. Finally, the little robot had returned, its colorless optics in urgent information' mode. It stood stiffly, one metallic hand up at its forehead in.

What is it? Dem asked.

Ghostlings request your presence in the village immediately. Important important cultural regime.

Dem tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully, brow furrowed. What is the status of the Leniti holdout? he asked.

Contained, sir. They have no way off-planet either physically or communicatively. A delay should cause no problems.

All right. Dem turned back to his control console, tapping rapidly at the control panel. Transfer your data, I'll look it over when I return. The Irken stood, retrieving his black contact lenses before stepping onto a lift, which brought him swiftly upwards onto the surface of the swampy world.

His SIR stepped over to the control console, a panel in its chest opening and producing a transfer port, which connected to the console. Nothing but a hiss and a flash of blue light accompanied the rapid data transfer.

The ghostlings were grouped in a large clearing near the center of their village when Dem arrived. He balanced uncertainly over the water pool on his mech-legs, antennae twitching in indecision. The ghostling village was a pattern of buildings, built carefully and unobtrusively around the surrounding water pool and the large hanging trees. This clearing was one Dem had seen them gather in a couple of times before, but he'd never been close to it. The ghostlings were gathered here now, nothing but the soft glow of live esitap illuminating the area.

One of them spotted him, and it stood, its tail weaving as it bobbed its head. The others looked up; repeating the same gestures, and a dozen pairs of solid, soulful black eyes gazed directly at the Invader holding himself out of the water a distance away.

Soldiers were not afraid of lesser aliens. The things he had learned in the academy were there in Dem's mind, and he even tried to remind himself of them, remind himself that these were inferior beings; primitive, clueless things that were no loss to the bright cannon sweep of Irken warships. Staring into their collective gaze now, Dem found, for some reason, that it was very, very, hard to remember that fact. Was it a fact? Dem quickly shoved the errant thought from his mind, and before he could become any more distracted, stepped forward on his mechs.

They were waiting expectantly when he arrived, pulling the metal legs from the swampy water and retracting them to stand among the gathered ghostlings. They reached slender fingers towards him, touching the strange fabric of his uniform, the leather gloves, the metal arm coverings, the smooth green skin of his face. The touch made him tense, but he endured it until they reached for his antennae.

Dem leaned away, flattening the sensitive appendages, and without a word they stopped their explorative touching, instead taking his arms and pulling him into the center of the group. Dem had never been in a situation like this, he'd never even been among a group of sentients before that were not Irkens. He was nervous, but suppressed it. He doubted the ghostlings would hurt him, and he was a capable, steadfast fighter when he needed to be.

They were whispering to each other now, gathered around him in a semi-circular pattern. They passed glowing esitap between them no, that wasn't esitap. Or was it? Dem squinted his lensed eyes, but he couldn't tell. It was the same shape and size as the fungoid-like growths that were the main food source for the ghostlings, but it was milky-white instead of clear. And it was glowing. Dem had seen esitap glow before, but not severed and out of the water.

One of the younger ghostlings stepped up to stand next to the alien. Dem's stance was calm, military, his arms folded as he appraised everything. The youngster next to him merely looked scared, although it relaxed somewhat on a few encouraging murmurs from the ghostlings around it. They danced a bit, almost excitedly it seemed, and Dem looked up sharply at the tree branches that dangled over the clearing. Had they just moved? No, they hadn't, but there had been a tangible ripple caused by what? Perhaps he had imagined it.

Dem's attention was brought back to the ghostlings by one of the glowing esitap being held under his nose. He took it gingerly. The youngster next to him was also given one, and the ghostlings drew closer, their eyes wide and their tails weaving. Their webbed feet pattered the mud in anticipation as they stretched out their slim fingers, gesturing at the two in the center. Dem didn't understand the gesture, but when the youngster obediently ate the esitap, Dem braced himself and bit into the one he held.

It was good. It was surprisingly good. It had a bit of a sharp flavor, and its texture was smooth and very pliable. He didn't even need to chew it; it slid easily down his throat. That wasn't so bad but what was the purpose of it? Dem looked at the surrounding ghostlings, antennae twitching slightly. They gazed back expectantly. A moment later Dem's head was swimming, and the esitap around him seemed to glow brighter, merging into one terrible scorching light. He shut his eyes against it, but it was still there. The light seemed to pass through his closed eyelids, course through his bloodstream, sear into his mind. What had he been tricked into?

His surroundings swayed, and he was only vaguely aware of falling. All of a sudden the world around him was full of shimmering lines, sparks, and threads, criss-crossing in a woven pattern that somehow seemed to fall perfectly into place with everything else. As if it belonged there naturally, indeed had always been there, he had just failed to notice it. His mind leapt beyond, swirling colors nearly overwhelming him as his mind raced, finding new pathways and twisting avenues to rush along in its sudden bright clarity and energy.

Feelings hit him. Emotions, vibes, life forces, the twisting and hidden energy of the universe, it was all there, laid out bare before him. His mind leapt, pivoted, running from one thing only to be confronted by another. Was this insanity? It would soon become so; Dem felt it deep in his gut. He could not deal with this onslaught. All his life he had been trained against emotion, trained against anything superfluous, trained to fight, trained to look at things in a certain way, trained to understand that balance meant nothing except the Irken Empire ruling everything.

He couldn't take this. He couldn't withstand it, and he couldn't cope with it. Neither could he withdraw. He was trapped. Fear began to follow the light, desperately attempting to block things that could not be blocked. Dem had always been a responsible, steadfast individual. Where was that now? He tried to find it, tried to draw on the training that was so ingrained in his mind. It would not come, it seemed not even real anymore, a vague, clouding shadow that did nothing but attempt to fudge out the light of clarity that now ravaged his panicked mind.

_Look past it, what's underneath_? Desperately Dem delved further into his own being, ignoring the propaganda and military training that had been drilled into him, brushing it aside and attempting to uncover who he truly was. It was the only way he knew to save his sanity. Determination pushed out the fear, as Dem found his inner core of strength. It was solid, unwavering, and to his shock, felt strong, knowledgeable, and somehow, _right_. A mountain against the wind. A stone sunk in the soft dirt, sheltering a fern bed. A warm, solid glow of dark green energy amongst erratic swirling colors Dem struggled for an analogy he could relate to, but failed. A huge tree, its branches arched protectively over

_The trees_. The searing white light in his mind was suddenly tempered as he reached out to where he remembered the trees to be. The solid well of strength inside of him found its way out, pushing past his training, past the way he looked at the world, to reach out tendrils of energy and twine around those offered out by those huge plants. It swarmed Dem's mind, and he couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. It changed everything he had known and believed in. It was too much

Dem's eyes fluttered open, comparatively familiar images settling in his mind and chasing away the frightening ghosts of color. He couldn't remember it. Any of it alls he knew was that it had been terrifying. His mind felt ravaged, exposed, but somehow free. He could feel things, move things around, sense things in a way he'd never been able to before. Slowly, his perception returned, and he moaned, stretching out shaking arms to push himself into a sitting position. His eyes flew open.

Leaning in close were a trio of the ghostlings, touching his face and arms, talking insistently. His mind was still too muddled to make sense of anything. He'd collapsed? What had happened? He looked up, gazing at the gently swaying branches of the trees. For some reason, that made him feel better.

His vision cleared and he sat up straighter, pushing away from the ghostlings. He needed to get back to his base and recuperate now. His mind slipped clumsily on the familiar mental commands to his mech-legs, and all of a sudden he could feel it. Feel the pod implanted heavily in his spine, feel the wires that coursed through it, feel them in his brain he'd never noticed it before. Never. But now, it was an evil, alien feeling; invasive, violating. It hurt. Not physically, but his now fresh and clear mind felt the thin metallic strings in a place they should not be, and recoiled.

Desperately Dem attempted to regain mental control over his backpod. But his brain fought the wires, fought the mental connection to them. He'd never known anything more frightening stumbling to his feet, Dem pushed past the concerned ghostlings and ran. He ignored the burning as his boots splashed through the water, ignored the roots he was constantly tripping over. He just wanted his security back; his backpod attachments, his training, his purpose. And it wasn't coming.

Finally, he reached his base, and stumbled inside, collapsing hard to the lift, his breath coming in shallow, frightened gasps.


	5. Finding His Place Again, and Invader Rha...

The SIR downstairs was immediately aware of its master's arrival. The computer announced it, and indeed was already bringing the Invader down to the sickbay. The SIR went there to wait for him. Like all its kind, the robot handled the crisis in a very efficient manner. But it did not understand what was wrong with Dem; why he was so frightened, why his backpod attachments refused to cooperate with his brain. The computer didn't know either. No machine of logic could. Even Dem knew that.

The computer encouraged him to rest, but Dem knew better. Every security, every fact of reality he'd formulated his life around had been swept away. If he was going to be able to function at all he needed it back, or at least needed some system to work his perception around. Dread had infused itself in his clear mind. He still saw things that he'd never seen before, still felt things he'd never felt before. His entire base became a frightening, alien structure to him, humming with desolate noise. It made his mind hurt, almost as badly as the backpod did. What had happened to him? _Why _had it happened? And how? Did he even have records of this kind of thing? Had he merely gone insane?

Trying to shut off his newly discovered perception, Dem searched his computer database for anything pertaining to drugs and mind-alteration. He found very little. Irkens had forgotten such things but he did find a brief note stating a ritual use of some types of drugs that were used to induce the mind into a hyper-conscious state. Dem nearly collapsed with relief upon learning that there _was_ a phenomena of this sort. But this presented a larger problem whatever he was sensing now existed. Dem tightened a claw against the counter, brow furrowed. He had to accept the fact that the life he'd been living, everything he had known, was merely a curtain, pulled over the window of what the universe was really like. It was frightening and disorienting, at best, and he wasn't sure if he could handle it.

One thing at a time, Dem he told himself. His mind brushed over the wires implanted in it and he winced. Focus on the backpod. Why can't you use it anymore? Dem narrowed his eyes. He'd taken the lenses out, it wasn't very comfortable to keep them in for longer than half a day Dem shook his head, struggled to remember how he'd worked his backpod before. It had been so automatic, ingrained, he'd never even thought about it. His mind rebelled against the wires how to make it accept them again?

He fought it, tried to force his mind into it again, but he slumped in defeat, realizing that he really had no idea how. He tried to relax, tried to do it without thinking, but the painful recoiling of his mind from the wires was too intense.

Something else for now those lines he'd seen. Those threads. Obviously the makeup of matter or energy just not visible to the naked eye. Well, many things were not he could accept that. But the feelings he got from them the weird vibes and the things he sensed coursing from everything Dem shut his eyes tightly. Why had he not felt it before? He'd not been trained to but, why? If it was as prevalent as it had seemed what then was the purpose of withholding it? Why had he not been taught about this? Or was everyone else as ignorant as he was? Could it be that the Empire was _not_ as Dem abruptly pivoted around, teeth clenched. Don't question too much don't not all at once work this out. It could be worked out, eventually. Everything would fall into place he knew that. It had to, unless he had gone insane, and that seemed unlikely for some reason. He had only to wait, think, and work things would sort themselves out. Dem's antennae twitched nervously. At least, he hoped.

A thought occurred to him. Invader Rhan. Had the same thing happened to her? Had she died because she hadn't been able to handle it? Had she perhaps cut off her communications in an attempt to shield the Empire from this terrible truth? Dem's opinion of her surged higher, and felt a strange mix of pity and admiration. That was another thing another thing that was suddenly laid bare in his mind. Emotion he'd been trained, raised from the moment he was born, not to feel emotion. Emotion was clutter, emotion only got in the way of missions such as these missions of destruction. Death and misery. Dem's antennae flattened, his crimson eyes widening. That was why Soldiers were trained against emotion. Emotion made them question what they were doing.

Dem huddled in his chair, covering his face with his gloved hands. The base hummed around him, pulsating, oppressive. All of a sudden he couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand the base, couldn't stand the wires that slid against his neurons, couldn't stand the vivid perceptions that ravaged his mind, couldn't stand the horrible weight of sudden emotion and realization. This base was no longer a sanctuary, it was a prison.

Dem managed to choke out. Take me to the Voot. He stumbled to his feet, stepping onto a lift that whirred and rushed him towards the docking bay. He had to get away from here before he lost his mind, he had to figure out some kind of point of stability, he had to find a new purpose. Something to focus him the lift reached the docking bay, and the Voot Cruiser sat there, awaiting silently.

Dem stepped over to it, hesitating briefly. He should call in, he should ask for a withdrawl of his mission ask for time to recover from the blow he had been dealt. But somehow, with a sickening, cold knot of dread in his middle, he knew that he could never recover. He'd never be able to go back to Irk, not with his new perception ability. It would be too much. He'd be an outcast, a rejected failure. A damaged tool. That's all he was. Gritting his teeth, Dem leapt into the Voot and started the engines.

A moment later, the Voot was shooting through the night sky. Dem didn't care if they saw him. He was out of the range of his own ghostling colony quite quickly, and he brought the Voot lower to the trees. He needed something to concentrate on

he said, his voice weak. Run a bio-scan near the area of the Leniti base what other what other lifeforms do they have under their command? He nearly choked on the words, even as the pulsating life forces from the plants, trees, and ghostlings down below him beat against his mind. Somehow, it was soothing, cooling his mind against the ache of the wires. Although one certain tendril, somewhere below, had a more familiar ring to it. It spoke of pain, spoke of the ugliness of those wires and how well it knew them.

Dem broke in again. Run a bio-scan directly below my ship

This was a quicker job. The computer stopped processing the first scan, switching instead to a scan of lifeforms in a much closer and smaller area. A small screen on the control panel lit up, scrolling Irken writing past in a long list. Dem narrowed his eyes at it. Nothing he had not seen before except Irken female? What? Approximate age was estimated to be somewhere after young adult. An image of the Invader he'd studied so carefully before coming here leapt into Dem's mind. Rhan? Was it possible that Rhan was still here? And alive?

Dem leaned forward, running his hands across the control panel and bringing the Voot into a sharp descent. He deftly maneuvered around the trees, pulling a little ways off to land in a relatively clear area. Nearly fumbling the controls in his excitement and apprehension, Dem opened the cockpit and clambered out of his ship. He did not even try to engage the mech-legs.

The sight that greeted him was one of only dark swampy jungle. At least at first. It took a moment, as Dem blinked in the dim light, for the Irken to collect his thoughts. He reached back into the cockpit, retrieving a pair of black contact lenses from under the control pad, and carefully slid them in. There had been 37 ghostlings listed on the bio-scan, and they still did not like the color red.

No sooner had he turned back when he saw a shape in front of him. Then several shapes. Luminous dark eyes gazed into his, as the ghostlings there shifted nervously on their webbed feet, whispering to each other. Their gestures were reclusive, stiff, almost hostile-seeming. They were definitely not accepting him the way the first village had. He could feel their apprehension and hostility beating wildly against his mind, and he felt a stab of his own fear. Why did they hate him so much? Was the group he had found an isolated one in their way of treating aliens? No, that couldn't be Rhan had mentioned that the group she had found, too Rhan! This was Rhan's ghosting group.

His suspicion was confirmed when a new shape appeared among the ghostling group. Balanced precariously on mech-legs that propelled her forward out of the darkness and into Dem's view, a relatively young female Soldier waited, gloved fists clenched, purple eyes flaring, curled antennae back in anger. Dem noticed she was not wearing the Soldier uniform. Instead, she was garbed in a loose-fitting brown garment that was belted around the waist to hold it in place, though her gloves and boots looked standard-issue.

Dem's mouth was dry, his eyes wide and staring, his antennae back in submission.

she acknowledged instantly, her voice dripping with displeasure. Invader, I will assume?

Dem nodded, shrinking from the negative feelings that were coursing towards him from the entire gathering around him. They knew what he was he was no longer just an alien, he was an Irken Invader bent on destruction and subjugation of their planet. Therefore, he was an enemy but what was Rhan? By the use of her mech-legs he figured she had gotten over the effects of the drug on her mind. But still, in the energy that he identified as her, he could still feel the pain of the wires and how well she knew it. She was a traitor. The word echoed in his mind. A traitor to an Empire that had betrayed them both had betrayed knowledge, life, and understanding. Dem couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at the ghostlings. All he could look at was the glaring truth of the Irken Empire and his shock at how easily he was accepting it now. He felt the trees around him, even through the hostile waves that flowed from Rhan and the ghostlings. He felt their support and strength, and it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, anything in the Empire, or of its influential military power.

_That's_ why you're here! Rhan cried suddenly, her purple eyes widening as her mech-legs retracted, depositing her on a tussock of grass. Dem noticed the movement of her mechs was not smooth or unhalting. He also noticed suddenly how firmly she stood, how her antennae curved back in an entirely confident position. She was not afraid of him. He was the weakling, whose resolve had been shattered, and he was still attempting to find his feet. She'd had time to find hers, and was ready for him, even if he wasn't up yet.

Invader Rhan, he managed to say. I am here on the mission of Operation Impending Doom II to subjugate Planet Thurk His voice broke. I am no longer certain I can continue with my.. my mission.

Don't call me by that title! Rhan snapped, eyes blazing. I know what happened to you it happened to me. You'll either die or you'll accept your new way of viewing the universe. And if you do the latter, you'll realize just how wrong our race is. Life is not something to be wiped out unnecessarily. Here! Rhan dipped a hand into the muck at her feet. Dem winced, but her hand did not steam.

Feel this, she said, holding out the handful. Dem shrank from it as droplets of muddy water ran from her glove into the swamp at their feet.

With your mind, she amended. Dem, eyeing the handful and Rhan warily, did so. It was a handful of muck. But in that single handful was teeming more life and energy than he would've thought possible. It was nothing like the energy that pulsated in his simplest of devices. That was a monotone, agonizing hum that hurt his mind and was quite apt to drive him insane. It was nothing like the swirling patterns of life energy that were so subtly twined in that one handful of muck. His own vibrations felt at peace with that muck, as they most certainly did not with his devices. Even the Voot was causing a rub on his perception, at the moment.

You see? Rhan's voice was gentler now, but there was a solid determination in her gaze. He knew she did not mean to let him keep any of his old views. Maybe that was what he needed but it was too much right now. It was too much. She was right; the horrible drone of Irken equipment felt badly unnatural to him now. The trees, the ghostlings, everything around him now excluding his Voot Cruiser felt so comfortable, flowing around and sinking into his being. He felt at home. He vaguely recalled feeling at home on Irk he'd had a purpose, a sense of accomplishment and well-being, and then a mission. That had felt comfortable, in the blind ignorance that had so afflicted him. Not anymore not ever again. He felt sick just thinking about it.

How.. how does the water not.. burn you? Dem finally asked, still gazing at the handful of muck she held.

Rhan eyed him appraisingly, then let the handful fall back into the swamp. It's a kind of trick' if you want to call it that. She continued at Dem's confused expression. I've reached harmony with this planet, I've reached harmony with my own mind again. It took years, Invader, years. When you understand energy well enough you can do anything. Alls I need to do with it is let the water vibrations meld with my own. It's not hard, once you can see it enough but it's not something you attain quickly. As demonstration, Rhan scooped up a handful of swamp water and smeared it across her own cheek. There was no burning, no negative reaction of any kind, though even Dem could feel the two vibrations easily bonding.

You.. you can use your mech-legs, he stammered. Nothing in my back-pod works.

That, too, took years, she agreed. She turned her head, glancing around at the ghostlings that had fallen into a semi-circle around the two Irkens. They were more relaxed now, and the hostile batterings of energy had ceased, much to Dem's relief.

Alright, Invader. Rhan turned back to the other Soldier. You're in a state of confusion that renders you pretty much harmless. I'll help you smooth things out, but not in the direction we've lived most of our lives. Leave your Voot. Forget about your base. Your mind isn't going to be able to stand them anymore that's why I destroyed mine.

Are you mad? Dem cried. The Armada will take this planet! And you have left yourself with no escape when they come to sweep it?

In all senses of the word Rhan said softly, gazing into Dem's eyes. I'm a traitor.

The mention of that word caused Dem to recoil, caused his mind to smart again at the wires, caused it to grab once more for the security in which he'd lived his whole life. Traitor. If he listened to this traitor, he would become one as well. Traitor to his own race, to the Irken Empire, to everything that his life had been before he came here. How could he do something like that? How could she ask him to do something like that? Numb, Dem found himself backing away from her. But the ideas and feelings he was reaching towards in his mind involving the Empire were gone. He felt nothing towards it now. It was no longer real; it had all been a sham his entire life he had lived with his eyes closed.

Try as he would not to, Dem still knew the Empire was wrong. He had watched them sweep planets without batting an eyelid, but he knew that watching the same thing now would break him down. He could feel the life now, feel the agony, feel the turmoil. It was something he'd never had to face before, and he was afraid of it.

He slumped against his Voot, ignoring the aggravating hum emanating from it. There was no life for him now, no purpose he couldn't live here. He couldn't exist here, he couldn't find a purpose here. His dejection flowed out in waves, causing a few of the ghostlings to step back nervously.

What's your name, Soldier? Rhan's voice broke through his melancholy, her tone icy and demeaning on the word Soldier'.

he said weakly.

Well, Dem Rhan turned again to look at the ghostlings, who still watched curiously. Come with me and I'll tell you my story. Maybe it will help to clear things up for you.

Rhan's story? That had been something he'd wanted to hear since being assigned to Thurk. A spark of interest ignited in his mind, along with a couple more spikes of pain from the wires. He only nodded, and Rhan turned back into the trees. He followed her, leaving the Voot circled by the curious ghostlings.

--


	6. Rhan's Story, and Sheer Bad Luck

It was surprisingly nice sitting in one of these old trees. The tree's energy blended nicely with his own, and Dem found it very helpful in easing the pain of the wires. Rhan sat opposite him between two large branches, almost completely relaxed. Dem turned his perception inward, avoiding the wires and looking as deep as he dared. It was hard and he realized, he'd never even known who he was before. What had been the security and loyalty to the Empire and everything he thought he had been as an Irken Soldier, was now scattered remnants of a thick film that had heavily coated the real Dem. The one inside. The remnants of that film were a dusky, clinging grey, but the swirl that pulsed softly beneath it was a dark, almost vibrant green. Looking at it, Dem was shocked to see the sheer strength and solidity of it. It twined with the energy of the tree imperceptibly and harmoniously, as if it had been part of it for its entire existence.

I never liked it much on Irk. Rhan's voice broke through Dem's appraisal of his own energy, and he looked up at her, antennae perking. She wasn't looking at him, instead she was gazing out through the tree branches, over the swamps towards the glow of the esitap in her ghostling village.

I was always very dedicated to my work, she continued, almost tonelessly. I never really knew why, it just seemed like the only thing I had in life to focus my attention on. That's how it's supposed to be for Soldiers. I was young I think I was probably the youngest Invader there ever was. I just did so well, because I had no energy or thought for anything else my memories of my whole _life_ back on Irk are just a blur.

But I was good I learned everything and when I got my acceptance to Invader rank I was ecstatic. I was allowed to participate in Operation Impending Doom I, and it was like a new light shining in on me. A chance to get out and see something new, a chance to apply everything I'd learned. I had good skills, I suppose. So it was to Planet Thurk that I went, with my own standard-issue information retrieval unit. I guess you've got one of those? She paused, looking at him. He nodded, and she looked away again, continuing.

It was a lot of help with the clerical kind of work. I faced everything on this planet the way I was supposed to, with an emotionless, perfectly efficient air. There was no feeling in my mind, no pity. This planet meant.. meant nothing to me. Even though I became obsessed with learning everything about it. It was like my hobby, finding out and understanding exactly how the ghostling culture worked. It never occurred to me to focus on anything else. Until they brought me to this ceremony even now it's muddled, I can't remember the details. It was some form of esitap they gave me to eat, and when I ate it, everything hit me. It was merciless. Everything was ripped away and it left me a blithering, helpless, idiot. Rhan shut her eyes tightly, and Dem's antennae twitched backwards slightly in sympathy.

It was hard very hard, Dem she continued after a moment. The ghostlings later told me they knew who I was the moment I came. I didn't understand why they had been so nice to me before, but when I could know and feel the things around me because of that esitap, I knew it was because they were so assured in their ability to force me to see how things really were. I almost I almost reported back into the Almighty Tallest then, and I might've if I hadn't gotten so attached to my mission here. I wanted to tell them don't send anybody here, this place is evil. Evil because it destroys the comfortable misconception our entire _race_ bases their existence on, Dem I went to do it. I went to tell them to send the armada and organic sweep Thurk immediately but when I stepped into my base I couldn't stand it. The humming that awful humming, those wires stabbing into my mind Rhan shuddered. I ran. I couldn't be in there. I remembered the the self-destruct that comes with all of an Invader's equipment. I'm just I'm lucky that SIRs aren't programmed to be able to recognize a traitor in their master. Else else it would've killed me before I destroyed the base. In a fit of panic I destroyed my base, my SIR, and my Voot Cruiser. Everything. And I ran. My mission was gone, my purpose was gone, and I was ready to go fling myself into the jaws of the nearest Thurk-beast.

Dem stared. In comparison, he thought he was handling this rather well but why? They were both Soldiers, both trained to loyalty and non-emotion. Was there something wrong with him? Or perhaps something right?

The ghostlings stopped me. Rhan's voice was softer now. Once I had destroyed everything they didn't hold back from me. They saved me, Dem her voice broke. They're the only reason I can even function today. They mean everything to me, they and Thurk, and that's why I'm glad I destroyed my Voot if Thurk must be swept, I will die with it like the traitor' I am. Her voice took on a cynical tone. The Empire is wrong, Dem she murmured softly. You ought to be able to see that you are handling this so well. I'm only just barely able to use my backpod attachments now I've had to fall into a state of harmony so complete that even those wires are accepted into it. It can be dangerous to get into that state, but since then I've learned to be selective, to let my backpod in, because there's no way it's ever coming out.

Dem brushed his awareness against the wires in his own mind and winced. That was what he missed most about his old security. He never even noticed the ugly things in his mind but he was too involved now. The thought that it would take years for the awful violation of the wires to ease was frustrating and painful. Not as painful as the uncertainty about what would happen, however Dem was the second Invader to be lost to Planet Thurk. When the Tallest found out, what would they do? Would they just sweep the planet and forget the entire incident? A grimace crossed Dem's face. Blind to the truth, the Irkens were destined to fall eventually, weren't they? Nothing could continue in ignorance without eventually destroying itself

Hey, Purple. The voice broke through Tallest Purple's thoughts and he glanced up in irritation from the book he was reading; The Psychology of Smoke and Fog'. Red stood there, frowning down at the control panel as he noisily munched on nachos.

Purple gazed back at his book.

I think the sweep cannons need to be more I dunno colorful and brilliant and lasery, don't you think? And all the good cheese is gone

Order some, Purple snapped, not bothering to answer Red's first question.

I was _going_ to, but Invader Floby called again. He's this close to CONQUEST! Red threw a cheesy finger up into the air in glee.

Purple sighed and put his book down. Did Zim call?

Red said grumpily. Why the hell did you have to go to that meeting and make _me_ deal with him?

Purple said, again ignoring his co-ruler's question. Did you hear from Dem yet? This Thurk-water makes _steam_, you know.

But only in combination with _lasers_! Red announced triumphantly.

Purple stared, mildly surprised at this bit of knowledge Red had somehow picked up. Red gazed back at him, munching on the nachos.

Red asked, licking cheese from his lips.

give Dem a call. He's late reporting in, anyway. Purple stood up and went over to the call panel with a sigh, pressing a few buttons.

He's busy, Red grumped. I want my cheese.

You have cheese, Purple said, as the Irken symbol flashed up on the screen and lit up the connection bar. Both of them waited silently for approximately five seconds.

But this isn't the _good_ cheese, Red insisted, scraping up the last of it with a nacho and popping it into his mouth with a frown.

Unable to connect to Invader Dem, the computer's monotone voice blared. Base processing shutdown and self-destruct.

Red and Purple's simultaneous cries rang through the room.

Where is _Dem_? Purple demanded.

Unknown. SIR unit reports he abandoned the base in the Voot Cruiser.

Not him too! wailed Red. Didn't we have enough trouble with that Rhan girl _last_ time?? Did they all turn traitorous or something??

Red paused, meeting Purple's gaze. Five more seconds passed as they gazed at each other, then both scrambled for the control panel, shouting instructions and coordinates for Planet Thurk to the computer and the administrators in the room.

Dem sighed audibly, tapping away at the control panel in his Voot. It was for the best, wasn't it? He knew he couldn't stand to be in that base anymore it grated on his mind. He'd brought the Voot into the center of Rhan's ghostling village. They were gathered curiously around it, touching it and talking to each other. Dem paid no attention, focused on the command sequences to self-destruct his base. He was able to do this from a distance as a precaution; in case the base were confiscated. Irken technology was never allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy, and it was this secretive attitude that allowed Dem this freedom now.

Call incoming intercepting received call broken. Armada coordinates identified, the computer blared suddenly, in the middle of Dem's fast-typing claws.

Dem's hands froze in the middle of the sequence. The Tallest had tried to call him? In the middle of the shutdown sequencing. Rhan stood next to Dem, her purple eyes wide in fear and her antennae flat.

Someone called me in the middle of the self-destruct process, he told her numbly. If they find out if they know

It's too late now, Rhan said tightly, looking away from him. They must be keeping a closer tab on you because of my disappearance. If they can't get through to you they'll bring the armada to investigate, you know they will. She turned back to look at him, distraught. They'll sweep Thurk without a thought, Dem!

Dem stared at her numbly. I.. I'm sorry, he managed.

It's not your fault, she said. your base is gone, and your SIR, we still have your Voot Dem, you've got to leave. You're handling this so well you've got to go. You can make it somewhere else, somewhere far away from the Empire I can't. I'm too attached now, Dem. I love Thurk. I can't live after it's destroyed. I just can't please Dem save yourself. You're the last hope of our race. I don't know if you'll ever make a difference, but you need to exist as an ideal

Dem couldn't tear his gaze away from her. All of a sudden this had come up. He had been settling in, ready to start trying what she suggested and finding himself once again in peace and solitude. It was the only way he knew to cease the turmoil inside of him, and now that chance, too, was shattered. By sheer bad luck, the Tallest had been alerted to his shutdown of his base and consequently, his mission, and there was no doubt they would come now. Rhan gazed pleadingly into his eyes. They were all going to die. Thurk was going to die. He could feel her pain and her sense of helplessness, and it scared him. As did the tears pricking at her eyes. Soldiers did not cry. Dem had not even cried, in the wake of his own pain and confusion. The loss Rhan would be dealt with the destructrion of Thurk was too great a part of her. She wouldn't be able to live without that part of herself. Dem turned away. Nothing he could do would convince her to leave Thurk behind. She'd found her purpose, as he had yet to, and that purpose was here. He still had a chance find another world, find another life, something else to drive him.

You've lost everything once Dem said, still trying to evade the deepening sense of his own fear. You could survive it again

I lost everything to a realized truth, Dem! she cried. It became what I had not known it to be! If Thurk is swept it will still be what I lived for! When the truth was unveiled the Empire was no longer what it had been! It was not what I had pledged myself to! Thurk still is and always will be! She was crying openly now. Just leave, Dem, please you don't have to die yet. Be an ideal. Live for Thurk and for everything you've seen as the truth in the past couple of days. It's fleeting and it's not much but _please_

I will, he said after a moment. Something inside of him was stirring seeing her tears, feeling the agony and love and helpless frustration that coursed from her. He wanted to make it better. He wanted to undo this thing he had caused. He had very likely caused, completely unwittingly, the destruction of all that was important to her. And she was not blaming him. That in itself spoke to him of a mindset of harmony and beauty that he felt a sudden wish to achieve. The kind of harmony that allowed the mind to exist along with the wires. Not the ignorance he'd known, but harmony. The kind that appreciated life, and didn't exist in the Irken Empire. He could never go back not now but he was not attached to Thurk as Rhan was. He could find another place. Another life, another purpose, another standpoint in existence. He had to. For the second time, everything familiar was being torn away from him Dem looked away, feeling his consciousness shudder at the prospect, and he reached into himself again. That core of strength he would very much need it.

Ducking his head, he stepped away from the Voot and laid a gloved hand on one of the huge trees. The energy immediately swirled to meet him, speaking in gentle whispers of a very subtle language. In all his brief time here, the trees were what had made the biggest impact on him. The thought of their destruction pained him greatly, and he knew he would feel it no matter how fast or far he flew. Perhaps there were ancient beings like this on other planets. Perhaps even Irk had once had trees of some kind

Slender fingers touched his arm, and Dem looked up into the dark eyes of a ghostling. He blinked, clearing his foggy vision, not realizing there were tears in his own eyes. The black contact lenses were still in, and they were irritating him now, but he didn't want to upset the ghostlings by taking them off. He looked around, taking in the scene one last time. The ghostling village, the strange esitap-film and rock structures that stood neatly against the water and trees. The glowing esitap in the pools of water, the ghostlings crowded in a semi-circle. A few of them were over by Rhan, who was slumped against the base of one of the trees. They touched her face, her antennae, her clothes, her hands, and she accepted their comfort wordlessly although she didn't move.

Looking at her, Dem's heart ached. He'd barely even known her, but he understood her pain. The kinship he felt with her position and her feelings was incredibly strong, and if there was any of that Soldier-film left in his mind, he would've been disgusted at the hurt he felt, the agony the prospect of being alone caused. Rhan was himself. She _was_ him, she was a reflection of his pain and his problems, he could not help but to feel close to her and to feel her pain even without it beating against his perception.

Dem straightened, brushing off his now-blue uniform with a detached air. Who knew how fast the armada could come when they were in a hurry, who knew how much of a hurry they were in. Traitors were not tolerated. They were killed, and quickly. Radical ideas were almost never embraced in the Empire, and if you had radical ideas, you just might be a traitor. Dem's new perception was incredibly radical, the path Rhan had chosen was even more so. He had to leave, he had to leave now, and he wasn't going to let these ridiculous emotions get him killed.

He gazed one last time at the prone form of Rhan, and turned to his waiting Voot. She might die with Thurk, but she would live on in him, and he would repeat what she had done, he would remain an ideal for her. He would learn harmony, he would find a place where he could settle down to understand and learn, and eventually perhaps even be at peace. He would do it for everything she had fought for.

Rhan looked up, as if sensing his conviction. No doubt she could feel it in his energy pattern. Dem did the only thing he could remember to show her his admiration and gratitude. He saluted. After a moment, she returned the salute, and Dem turned, heading for the Voot Cruiser. The ghostlings watched him, silently, and Rhan dropped her head miserably once more.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

A/N: Well, here's the end of it... please read and review! I might write a sequel sometime, but hit me with something heavy if I start it before I finish up my zillions of other projects... man I'm glad this story is over, but it was very enjoyable to write... so sad though..

--

Oh, come _on_, Red whined to the screen. So _what_ if we're traveling at _barely_ sublight speeds? I DEMAND MY CHEESE!!

snapped Purple, as he gazed out the viewport, sucking noisily on the straw of a drink. We're almost _there_, your nachos are fine _without_ the cheese, I'm sure. We have a crisis on our hands, remember?

Red glared, but turned off his connection to Planet Callnowia. How am I supposed to get the maximum satisfaction out of a sweep without my nachos and _good_ cheese to eat??

I'm sure the sweeps are lasery enough for your tiny attention span Purple said, sucking the last drops from his drink and crumpling the cup. we've never _had_ a traitor before this is this is kind of _important_!

They're all stupid short things, Red scoffed, pivoting to march back to his chair. He leaned back in it thoughtfully. what should we do with.. uh, Thurk? I think another Shopping Mall Resortia would be nice, don't you?

Let's think about that afterwards, Purple said, his antennae twitching nervously as he gazed out at the fast-approaching Thurk.

Incoming transmission from Earth, one of the attendants at the control panel called.

Loud groans issued forth from both Tallest.

Not _now_! whined Red, kicking his feet like a two-year-old. That stupid pathetic short Zim-thing!

Purple thonked his head hard against the viewport pane several times before turning to the transmission screen. Put him on, he said tiredly. Red continued moaning and wailing in the chair, covering his face with his claws dramatically.

The little excuse for an Invader, Zim, popped up on the screen. Greetings, my Tallest! he announced grandly. I apologize for not reporting in sooner, but I had a _slight_ crisis to deal with. No need to reveal details on that, however! Zim saluted nervously, though he otherwise looked entirely pleased.

Not now, Zim, Purple said, gritting his teeth in nervousness. We have a crisis of our _own_ to deal with.

Red called, hands still over his face. Somebody's actually more annoying than _you_.

Zim fell silent and blinked for a moment in confusion. Oh yes! Of course, my Tallest! Has a planet failed to be conquered? That will not happen to too many of them, I am sure! Earth, at the very least, is in running for defeat to my AMAZING skills! Very soon, my Tallest! I'm the most _inexorable_ of Invaders, as you know! Zim looked slightly nervous now, especially at Red's kicking around and groaning, and Purple's very anxious expression. Eh.. I will report in later! Invader Zim, signing off! Zim's picture flashed off the screen, replaced by the Irken logo.

What's.. inexorable mean? Red had paused in his fit' to gaze thoughtfully upwards.

Purple sighed in exasperation. It means Zim has delusions or something now get up! Thurk is right ahead and we have an even stupider Invader to deal with! At least Zim's _loyal_, even if he does ruin _everything_.

Right! But what about my nachos?

Check the microwave, Purple said tightly. And no, we _still_ don't have any good cheese'.

damn. 

Rhan was waiting when the armada arrived. In the top of one of the tallest trees of the area, she clung to the branch, her antennae flat. Frightened purple eyes gazed up into the sky, knowing and dreading what they would very soon see. The ghostlings milled below the tree nervously, looking up at her with sad eyes. They knew what was going to happen, but she owed it to them for going about their lives just the same. That, at least, was something they were very good at the sun was setting, and Rhan looked away from it. That horrible monotone hum she'd come to hate so much bit suddenly at the edges of her mind, and she cringed. They were coming. They were almost here

At least Dem had gotten away safely, Rhan was grateful for that. She hadn't felt alone during her time here, but the utter relief at finding another Irken in the same position and possibly, the same mindset had taken her by surprise. It gave her hope hope for the Irken Empire, hope that perhaps their race had not lost all their ability to sense what truth really was. Perhaps, someday, things would be different not now, not anytime soon, but someday

They were closer now. She could really feel that hum in her mind; it vibrated against the wires in her brain, making her wince, and as she looked up she saw through the haze of the atmosphere, the dark purple-red shapes of Irken ships. They were here. A lone Thurk-beast circled into her vision, wings angling deftly as it soared, the dim light glinting from its dusky red scales.

They were here and soon, nothing else would be. 

Dem didn't know where he was going. He only knew he had to get far away away from any place where the armada could pick up on his ship. The awful hum of the Voot grated at his mind, causing a grimace to work its way onto his face as he tried to concetrate on flying. He didn't know where he was going, and at the moment, he didn't care. He knew the armada was at Thurk. He knew what they were going to do to it. But he held Rhan's hope in his heart, and he had to live for that if for nothing else. He had to be strong, he had to keep living. He'd been trained all his life against emotion and superfluousness, and it worked for him now, keeping him at a level of sanity to be able to function, to accept what was going on, and to get past it. 

But when he felt the life energy of the trees he'd grown to love and of the Irken who was so like him roil and snap in the agony of destruction, Dem couldn't hold back, and he sobbed, tears coursing down his face and spattering silently onto the blue fabric of his uniform.


End file.
